


5 Times Arthur Helped Merlin With a Case + 1 Time He Really Fucking Didn’t

by ingberry



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Veronica Mars Fusion, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Private Investigators, Rimming, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-29
Updated: 2014-12-29
Packaged: 2018-03-04 05:04:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2953376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ingberry/pseuds/ingberry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Camelot – the town where mansions are ten a penny, the town that welcomes film stars, famous authors, an ex-Spice Girl and the IT-investors of the 90s.</p><p>The home to sixth form parties that cost enough to feed a whole family for months.</p><p>Also home to Hunith Emrys Investigations, Camelot's only private detective agency.</p>
            </blockquote>





	5 Times Arthur Helped Merlin With a Case + 1 Time He Really Fucking Didn’t

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GeekLover](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GeekLover/gifts).



> Happy holidays, GeekLover! 
> 
> I saw that you listed TV fusions as a part of your likes and this idea jumped out at me. I don't know if you like Veronica Mars (I did some light stalking as research but didn't become any wiser), but I hope that the fact that it's a fusion tickles you nonetheless. I also tried to bake in some of your other likes, so I hope you enjoy it! 
> 
> Thanks so much to A, M and T for your help and beta-skills.

#### One

Being rich and successful attracts trouble – the kind of trouble that is at worst a danger to everything you love and at best a constant nuisance. But that’s money for you. You wanted it, you got it, and now it’s fucking you over just like everyone always told you it would.

But why, exactly, would anyone target the unassuming, plain fish in a pond full of much bigger, much more extravagant rainbow fish? Why take down the teenager who runs a small (albeit successful for its size) website selling homemade beauty products when you could blackmail a Pendragon or a Gawant and be set for life?

Because it’s the petty crimes you get away with. No one ever sticks up for the little fish, nor does the little fish come with a gaggle of solicitors.

***

“Credit cards?” Mithian says, briefly looking up from her phone.

Merlin stops picking at his sloppy, lukewarm pasta bake. “You want my card? I have to warn you, I’m pretty sure I owe it money.”

Mithian’s lips purse as she raises an eyebrow at him. “Sefa’s beauty shop has customers, right? I mean, I assume so. I see that pink nail polish everywhere.”

“Pretty exclusively customers from this school, I think, but yeah, definitely customers. So you think they’re swiping credit card info?”

“What else would anyone want to hack a sixteen year old’s amateur beauty shop for? Special offers on lip gloss?”

“Hey, I’ve heard the lip gloss is pretty good.” Merlin points his fork at her, gaze fixing on a point over Mithian’s shoulder. Sefa’s sitting at Vivian’s table, seemingly deep in conversation that’s suddenly broken when her face morphs into laughter.

Mithian turns, eyebrows knitted together. “She doesn’t look like someone upset about being taken down by criminals with really low ambitions.”

“What, do you want her to weep into her pasta bake?”

“I’ll pass on the weeping, but you’d think she’d at least be bothered.”

Merlin shrugs. “She was bothered enough to come to me.”

Hair is loosening from Mithian’s bun, curling softly against her neck. She keeps brushing it absent-mindedly over her shoulder.

“Right. And you’re worried enough about it to drag me into this.”

Merlin smiles, lop-sided. “When do I not?” And then, growing more thoughtful, he peers over at Sefa and makes a face. “Who else would help her? Not even her so-called friends are going to bother getting their daddy’s lawyer on this.”

Mithian gives a put-upon sigh, thumbs at her phone and says, “Tell me I’m brilliant.”

“You’re brilliant. Now give me the news.”

“Found the security hole.” She rises from her seat and slings her backpack over her shoulder. “Done picking at your lunch? Seems like a good day to skip English.”

Pushing the rest of his cold lunch into the rubbish bin, Merlin follows Mithian out into the grey, dreary day that seems to follow the example of every day before it.

***

Camelot – the town where mansions are ten a penny, the town that welcomes film stars, famous authors, an ex-Spice Girl and the IT-investors of the 90s.

The home to sixth form parties that cost enough to feed a whole family for months.

Also home to those who can’t afford _one_ glass of the champagne dripping from the edge of the table onto the hideously expensive carpet.

“I fucking hate you sometimes,” Mithian says as she takes a step back to avoid being pummelled by a rampaging bloke with a beer in each hand. “So much.”

“Do you want to get paid or not?”

They push through the crowd, the bass vibrating the floorboards beneath their feet.

“You never pay me.”

“I bake. Sometimes.”

Mithian pushes him in the back, which sends him crashing into someone’s side. Merlin glares at her over his shoulder, and then rolls his eyes to see Arthur Pendragon scowling at him, his deceptively unassuming grey t-shirt stained dark by the beer that had sloshed over the glass.

“Left your cave for the night?”

Arthur Pendragon. Son of influential business owner Uther Pendragon. Grade A prick, or so the rumours say. Of course, back when Will was still alive, Merlin knew just who Arthur Pendragon was. But Arthur hasn’t been that person in a long time.

“Nice catching up,” Merlin says, plastering a smile on his face. “Let me know if you want to meet up and braid each other’s hair, make some scrapbooks.”

“I’ll bring the nail polish.” Arthur’s face is blank. As he turns away, Merlin shares a look with Mithian.

She leans in, talking out of the corner of her mouth in a way that makes everything she says completely unintelligible.

“I’ve no idea what language you just spoke, but no, that wasn’t a hint. Or a clue.”

“How do you know?” She says as she pulls him away from Arthur’s group. “Maybe it absolutely was a clue?”

“So everyone who mentions make-up from now on is trying to share their infinite wisdom with us?”

“Fine. Fine. You lead the way, then, and find whatever it is you came for.”

They don’t find anything.

The next morning, Camelot Sixth Form College is thrown into chaos when it turns out bank accounts and credit cards have been emptied.

***

“You’re on it, aren’t you?”

Merlin looks up from the sink, meeting Arthur’s eyes in the mirror. Arthur’s leaning against an empty stall, his hands pushed into the pockets of his jeans.

“Come for the scrapbook?”

“Christ, just cut the bullshit for once.”

“No? I guess this is about a certain case, then.” Merlin turns and leans against the bathroom counter. “I can’t _imagine_ why you’d suddenly care.”

Arthur rolls his eyes. “Can you find out who stole my money or not, Emrys?”

“If I’d known you were updating your lipstick collection… I’d help, you know. You only had to ask.”

“Well, I guess getting gifts for, you know, _friends_ , is an entirely new concept for you.”

Merlin grins, fighting the urge to burst out laughing. He’ll never understand why some people are intimidated by Arthur. He’s nothing but a scared kid with a screwed up dad, living the life of the perpetually important.

“What do you know?” Merlin says, grabbing his book bag from the counter.

Arthur narrows his eyes. “I don’t want to run around school with you playing Scooby Doo.”

“Fantastic, I was hoping you’d be out of my face in about five minutes. Just give me the fucking facts, Arthur. No Mystery-Machine necessary.”

***

Merlin deals with a lot of things. He’s dealt with Will – or, well, he’s _dealing_. He’s half of his mum’s private investigator firm. He hasn’t seen his dad in years, and he deals with that too. But when Arthur meets his eyes in the cafeteria for the first time in years, Merlin doesn’t know what to do with that at all.

#### Two

“It’s almost half twelve.”

Hunith looks up, her hand hovering over the piece of paper she’d been about to pick up. “God, is it really?”

Outside her window a street light flickers, as it has done for weeks. It illuminates the office in a bright orange glow, reflecting in the little “Hunith Emrys” plaque on the desk.

“And you’ve not had anything to eat since lunch.” Merlin puts down a box of biscuits fresh out of the oven. “Probably not the most healthy option for someone who’s skipped several meals, but it’s something.”

“I’m the one who’s supposed to parent in this relationship, you know,” she says as she reaches over the desk for a biscuit. “Have you done your homework?”

Merlin gives her a look. “Mum, I always do my homework.”

“Now that,” she says, pointing at him, “is a blatant lie. I know these things. I pick out lies for a living.”

Merlin rolls his eyes, leans back against the doorway and lets his eyes rest on the papers on her desk. He tries to pick out the heading of the paper on top, but she clues in immediately and shuffles them out of the way.

“Come on, kid.” She gets up from her seat and moves around the desk to find her coat. “You have enough to worry about, you don’t need to worry about other people’s business too—Oh, leave it.” She puts a hand on Merlin’s arm as he reaches for the box. “For tomorrow.”

He pulls back and raises an eyebrow. “So that’s tomorrow’s ill-advised lunch, then? I should’ve brought you a salad.”

She closes the door behind them and turns to lock it. On the glass window, the letters spelling _Emrys Investigations_ have almost faded. “How about, tomorrow, I make you dinner, ok? A proper one.”

“Mum.”

“I know you can handle yourself, it’s not that.”

“You’re busy, you don’t have to feel bad.”

Her face changes a little under the yellow light of the street lamp. He wishes he could take the words back.

She seems to war with herself for a moment before she says, “It’s because I want to.”

And of course it is. He’s never doubted that, because even if his mum is busy sometimes, she’s always fussed about him, even more so after his dad left.

“It better not be frozen pizza again.”

She pinches his arm, and he laughs.

***

“There’s someone by the door,” Hunith whispers just as Merlin is about to climb out of the car. “Stay with me and let me do the talking.”

Merlin watches her back straighten as she strides down the path to their porch, her shoulders tense with authority. He follows close behind. Their porch light is out, leaving whoever it is in complete darkness, and all Merlin can see is an outline of someone who appears to be about the same height as himself.

“My office hours are eight to five,” Hunith says, stopping some distance away. “And, also, my office is downtown.”

“Look, I—” A familiar voice stumbles, words crumbling into nothing.

Merlin takes a step closer, details becoming clearer and clearer as he goes and his eyes adjust to the darkness of the porch.

“Arthur?” he says, frowning.

Hunith turns towards him, about to speak, but then she whips her head back towards the person by the door. “Pendragon? Arthur Pendragon?”

It’s answered by a low hum that’s filled with either misery or embarrassment or both.

“Well, gosh, don’t just stand out here, love.” Hunith fumbles for the door with one hand and Arthur’s arm with the other. “Unlock the door, will you, Merlin? I forgot my keys in the car.”

Merlin hits the light in the hallway as he steps inside, and holds the door open as his mum ushers Arthur into the house. Arthur stands still and uncomfortable in the middle of their hallway, expression lost and distant. Merlin inches past him, not sure how to communicate with Arthur outside of their usual prickly one-liners and sarcasm.

“I’m getting my keys, Merlin,” Hunith says. “Get him settled.”

When his mum leaves, everything grows unbearably quiet. Merlin turns his back on Arthur and heads into the living room, aware of Arthur’s eyes on him.

“I wouldn’t be here,” Arthur says, suddenly. It’s half a sentence at best, but still Merlin says, “I know.” Because he does get it. There’s no way Arthur would be here if he didn’t absolutely have to be.

“Sit down.” Merlin gestures vaguely towards the living room. Arthur hesitates, wets his lips, keeps still. “Or mum’ll fuss over you when she gets back, wondering why you’re still standing there—”

“I get it. Just… I get it.”

Merlin leans back against the small kitchen island as Arthur sits at the edge of a chair, every muscle in his body ready to jump up and take off.

“Morgana’s gone,” Arthur says, and Merlin tries to hide his surprise. He hadn’t thought that Arthur would say anything before his mum got back. “Dad thinks she’s been kidnapped, but there’s no ransom note, no anything. That’s how kidnappings work, right?”

“Usually.”

“Well, not a word. Just gone.” Arthur waves his hand.

“How long?”

“Three days.”

“Did you file a report?”

“At the moment they assume she’s run away, since there’s no sign of anything. So that’s all they’ll do. And maybe she has, but we need to know.” Arthur pauses. “You know?”

“When was the last time you saw her?”

Arthur leans further back in the chair, elbow hooked over the armrest. “The night before she disappeared. She was on the sofa with her boyfriend when I came home. We didn’t really talk, they were watching a movie and I just went straight up to bed.”

“And your dad?”

Arthur looks away and shrugs. “I don’t even really know. Sometimes we don’t see him for days. Could’ve been a week since he last saw her.”

“Well, my mum’ll look into it. She’ll do her best.”

“Your mum?”

“Yeah. I mean, she’s the PI.”

“I thought you…” Arthur shrugs again as the rest of the sentence fades into nothing.

“Oh, me? Uh, yeah, I help.”

“OK.”

Where is his mum anyway? His skin feels itchy with the awkwardness of the situation, and he really needs the whole thing to disappear from his life entirely.

He’s clearly not the only one who feels that way, as Arthur clears his throat, picks at a loose thread in the armrest and says, “I should go.” He gets up and hovers by the chair for a brief moment. “Tell your mum thanks.”

His mum doesn’t come back until Arthur’s been gone for ten minutes.

“Where did you go?” Merlin asks, harsher than he intends.

Hunith fills the kettle with water, glancing out the window. “Thought it was best to give you two some distance. He clearly needed your help.”

“No, mum, he needed _your_ help.”

“Don’t be daft, Merlin. If he needed my help, he would’ve come to the office between eight and five like any normal person would.”

“Clearly you don’t know Arthur.”

“Clearly _you_ don’t know Arthur as well as you think you do.”

Merlin stares at her, teeth clenched. For a moment all that can be heard is the boiling water from the kettle.

“I knew his mother, once.”

Merlin nods.

“Lovely woman.”

***

Merlin has a thought during biology.

_name of M’s boyfriend?_

He pushes the phone against his thigh and waits for the answering vibration. When Mr Gaius is no longer looking in his direction, Merlin peers down as subtly as possible.

_Cenred something. Useless dick._

Merlin rolls his eyes as he pockets his phone. Cenred. That’s interesting, in the sense that Merlin has no idea who that is. And Merlin knows pretty much everyone at Camelot High by virtue of necessity.

So where does Morgana’s boyfriend fit into this?

***

“So he’s not from Camelot?”

“Nope,” Mithian says. “Nemeth High, over the hills and far away. Near the council estates.”

And there it is. Classic Romeo and Juliet story. Although, technically not, as there are no warring families and only different circumstances and social classes, and so… OK maybe it’s not classic Romeo and Juliet at all.

“Are you thinking this is another Romeo and Juliet thing again, because if so, I might need to stage an intervention.”

“No,” Merlin says, a touch too fast. Mithian grins. “Shut up.”

“Do you want my help or not?”

Merlin grumbles into his pudding.

***

“What’s the last thing you talked about?”

Arthur jumps, water splashing everywhere. He looks up into the mirror and meets Merlin’s eyes where Merlin is leaning against a stall.

“Fuck,” Arthur says, pushing a wet hand through his hair. “I’m going to buy you a fucking bell.”

Merlin merely raises his eyebrows in reply, waiting for an answer. He wants to laugh, loving the feeling of turning the tables on Arthur, because he so rarely gets the chance.

“She felt trapped,” Arthur finally says. “I mean, that’s not the _last_ thing we talked about. We talked about stupid shit like drinking milk straight out of the carton and who should’ve gone home on x-factor. But the last thing we _really_ talked about was that.”

“Trapped,” Merlin repeats, and Arthur tenses.

“So you think that means she ran away.”

“That’s not what I’m saying. I’m not drawing conclusions because of one word. Trapped could mean a lot of things.”

“You know what he’s like—my dad. He means well, or at least I fucking hope he does, but you always have to fit that mould, that idea that he has of you. I don’t think anyone who’s ever lived with him hasn’t felt trapped.”

Merlin can’t find the words to ask anything else.

“Call me if something comes up.”

“Do you think I’m a moron?”

“Do you want me to answer that?”

***

“What was she like?”

Hunith looks up, confused, spaghetti left mid-twirl.

“Arthur’s mum,” Merlin clarifies.

“Oh, Ygraine. She was something. She had this aura about her, you know what I mean? Charisma. She was an actress before she met Uther. She was younger than him, a rising star, beautiful, kind. Arthur looks a lot like her, but…”

Merlin waits, watches her as she thinks.

“Arthur doesn’t have that joy for life she exuded when she was younger, when she was taking it all by storm. But she wasn’t like that, at the end, she was more weathered, rather like Arthur.”

“Because of Uther?”

“Who knows. Maybe. Be careful of drawing conclusions too fast, Merlin.” She takes a sip of water and rests the glass against her lips before she continues. “I don’t think Uther is an easy man to live with. He loved Ygraine, goodness knows. Everyone knows that. And he loves the kids too. But he’s not an easy man.”

Merlin only nods around his mouthful of spaghetti.

“Is it good?” Hunith asks, mouth curling up at the corner.

He nods, mouth still full, and wipes at the corner with the back of his hand.

When they’re washing up, shoulder to shoulder, Hunith suddenly says, “This whole thing with Morgana reminds me of Ygraine. She was gone for a year, once. She was never reported missing, because Uther said she was on a research trip to Italy. But that never did sit quite right with me.”

***

Why would Ygraine be gone for a whole year right after she got married to Uther? Merlin stares at the algebra on the blackboard, the lines of the letters making odd patterns behind his eyelids when he closes them.

***

Arthur looks small in the giant living room of the Pendragon Mansion. It’s as if the fireplace alone could swallow him whole. He sits with his arms crossed and his face tense as Merlin arranges the words in his head, tries to make sense of them in the way that will be the least painful.

Merlin can’t believe that he’s the one who has to do this, how Uther hasn’t done this – or even Morgana.

“Will you just spit it out?” Arthur says, and there’s a haunted look to him that makes Merlin realise waiting is probably worse than whatever Merlin has to say.

“Morgana is your half sister.”

Arthur’s eyes go wide and he clenches his jaw, lips thinning.

“She’s not Uther’s. She’s your mum’s.”

“What? But that’s not possible, my mum wasn’t… she wouldn't." Arthur's face hardens. "You’re wrong. Fuck you, seriously, just...” Arthur’s practically vibrating on the couch and it only takes a second before he jumps up and starts pacing the room, his hands clenching and unclenching.

“Hey, calm down, ok? I’m not lying. Why would I lie to you?”

Arthur gives him a disbelieving look. “You have plenty to get revenge for.”

“Don’t confuse your own fucking behaviour with mine.”

Arthur has his mouth open to speak, but it clicks shut, his expression turning blank.

Leaning back on the sofa, Merlin rubs at his face and sighs. “Ygraine left your dad for a year almost right after they got married. I don’t know why, I didn’t look into why, that’s not any of my business. But she was pregnant with Morgana when she returned.”

“What does this have to do with Morgana now?”

“She has a half-sister. Morgause Gorlois.”

“What the fuck kind of name is that?”

Merlin raises an eyebrow at him.

“Fine, it doesn’t matter. Just take me there.”

“What do you mean take—”

***

They drive to Cardiff, the radio playing an endless mix of 80s music and the newest hits. They don’t speak much. Arthur looks out the window most of the time, his brow furrowed. He’s clearly lost in thought and Merlin feels no need to interrupt him.

Merlin doesn’t know why he’s here. He could’ve just given Arthur the address and left it at that. But they were sort of friends once, before Will, and something twists in Merlin’s gut at the thought of Arthur doing this alone.

When the GPS finally announces their arrival at the address listed for Morgause, Arthur sits still, his hands clasped tightly.

“How much do I owe you?” he says, voice a little croaky with disuse.

“I don’t want your money.”

“I bought your services, Merlin, stop being an arse.”

“You didn’t buy anything. We never entered a contract. If anything you just owe me a favour. Alright, let’s say that. You owe me a favour.”

Arthur looks at him. “I’d rather owe you money.”

“Too fucking bad.”

Glaring at Merlin, Arthur takes off his seatbelt and then turns his attention to the house. He sits for a moment, before he suddenly springs out of the seat and out onto the sidewalk, as if he just took a literal jump into it all.

Merlin watches him go, settles back in his seat and waits.

#### Three

Arthur leans in, hand at the small of Merlin’s back, and whispers, “I hate you.” His breath brushes across Merlin’s ear, and Merlin laughs, looking for all the world as if Arthur had only shared a private joke.

“You owe me, remember?” Merlin says, leaning into the warmth of Arthur’s body.

“Who are we looking for?”

“Well, that’s not really any of your business is it?” Merlin reaches for a flute of champagne from one of the passing trays.

“I got you into this function, and if anything goes wrong it’ll be on my head, so I think I have every right to know.”

“Let’s just say it involves someone disgustingly rich doing terrible things to people who are hideously poor.”

“That narrows it down.”

Merlin peers at him, his lips trembling a little with suppressed laughter. “Is that self-insight I see?”

“No, it’s insight into my surroundings, Merlin. I’m surrounded by idiotic dipshits at every turn.”

“Ah, and of course your blessed light is untouched by arseholery.”

“Of course. I’m a paragon of virtue to be admired by my peers.”

Merlin laughs. “Oh god. Just shut up and be my trophy boyfriend.”

“Technically, you’re the plus one here, so I think you’re the trophy boyfriend.”

“I’m not nearly impressive enough to be a trophy, Arthur, come on.”

“Are you fishing for compliments? It doesn’t suit you.”

“Oh my god. Shut up, Arthur, I’m trying to work.”

Arthur rolls his eyes, but shuts up. He still stays close to Merlin, keeps his hand at Merlin’s back as they move through the crowd. They come to a halt at the entrance of a nearby hall, just in time to see Agravaine, a champagne flute in hand, about to make a speech.

“Welcome, everyone, to this wonderful event all planned and executed by my excellent team at Agravaine Software. It’s an important day for the company, and for me, and indeed for all of us…”

“How do you even know this moron?” Merlin whispers.

Arthur answers, face close to Merlin’s neck. “Distant relative.”

“This his house?”

“Yep.”

“Come on.” Merlin grabs Arthur by the sleeve of his suit jacket and drags him into the hallway. “Do you know where his office is?”

Arthur takes the lead, taking the stairs up to the second floor two at a time. Merlin follows, looks over his shoulder to make sure no one saw them. The office is down the hall, and Merlin closes the door behind them with a muted click.

“What are you going to do?”

“Bug, first of all,” Merlin says, sitting down in Agravaine’s office chair. He fumbles under the desk, pressing the bug in place. He drops another one in a potted plant just in case.

“You do realise family reunions will be fucking awkward if he finds out?”

“I’m sure you’ll survive.”

Merlin moves to the desk drawers and starts going through them, looking for any document that might look interesting. The nervous energy rolls off Arthur, and Merlin has to hide a smirk. It’s clear that whatever else Arthur is used to, going through other people’s stuff is not one of them.

“Keep an ear out for people,” Merlin says as he pulls out the keyboard shelf underneath Agravaine’s computer. “What do you think his password is?”

“Why the fuck would I know his password, Merlin?”

“Well, your guess is as good as mine. His birthday? His pet’s name? Any children?”

“I never pay attention to Agravaine when he starts blabbing, I haven’t the foggiest.”

“You’re a useless partner, I should’ve picked someone else.”

“Yes, you absolutely should’ve picked someone else, someone who doesn’t want to smack your head into that desk you’re snooping in.”

Merlin looks up and grins, because that was the most lacklustre insult he’s ever heard from Arthur, in the history of basically forever.

He’s about to reply when Arthur’s face fills with panic and he says, “Shit, someone’s coming.” Merlin turns the off the computer screen, leaps away from the desk, grabs Arthur by the arm and backs up against the wall.

Arthur exhales with a grunt as they hit the wall where his weight pins Merlin in place. His hands at Merlin’s hips are the only things that betray his uncertainty as they seem unable to settle, his fingers fluttering restlessly as Merlin fists his own hands into Arthur’s suit jacket, burying his face in Arthur’s shoulder. The door creaks open and Arthur hides his face into Merlin’s neck, breathing over Merlin’s racing pulse.

“Hey,” a stern voice says. “Mr. De Bois’ office is off limits, bugger off.”

“Oh,” Merlin says, slipping out from under Arthur, a little relieved that their crotches are no longer intimately acquainted. “This is his office? Wow, oh god. I’m… so sorry. Wow, I’m so embarrassed.” He looks at Arthur, and it’s not hard to blush as he remembers Arthur’s lips almost brushing the skin of his neck.

The staff member rolls her eyes. “Just get back to the function before he sees you. And pick somewhere else to… to…” She waves her hand as words fail her. When Merlin slips past her, she looks him up and down with a disapproving grimace. “And straighten out your clothes, kid.”

Arthur catches up to him halfway down the hall, urges him to a stop and fixes Merlin’s tie with deft, practised fingers. His face is close, eyes downturned, as he tugs one final time at the tie. He gives Merlin a crooked smile and a wink before heading down the hall.

#### Four

“Fuck. Fuck. _Fuck_.”

Merlin runs towards the stairs. He should’ve never called Arthur. He’d been desperate, his mum’s out of town and he couldn’t get a hold of Mithian, so he’d called. His footsteps echo down the hallway of the abandoned building as he sprints, knowing he’s lured Arthur into a trap.

A really fucking stupid trap that Merlin should’ve seen coming from miles away.

Merlin grips his tazer tightly, running and running until he can taste blood in the back of his throat.

He doesn’t even know who’s in the building. Whoever had gotten him in here and then trapped him in the room had claimed to be an anonymous informant, one who had to meet him to give him important information. And he fucking knows better than this, he does.

Some cases are tough. They leave you struggling and grasping at straws, stringing you along until you think you’re close and then they leave you in the dust again, teasing you. It takes a particular kind of person to deal with that sort of thing, like his mum. And Merlin’s never quite been there, never quite been patient enough for these cases.

It leaves him wide open. It leaves other people wide open to be taken down just because he called them for help. He’d made it out of the room on his own, picking the lock, as Arthur never showed up. But he knows that Arthur came, because he’d yelled “Merlin!” as the line cut off and Merlin’s phone died, and that wasn’t the tone of someone who intended to leave him locked in a room with some psycho on the loose.

He finds Arthur in a large, open hall.

Merlin comes to a stop, gasping for breath, his legs shaking from the strain and the panic. Arthur is on the floor, and Merlin is both relieved and terrified by the little moans of pain. He’s been beaten and bruised, fresh and dried blood marring his skin.

“Shit,” Merlin says as he crouches down, not quite knowing where to put his hands.

Arthur’s eyes blink open and he groans as Merlin’s hands press at his ribs. “Bloody bastard,” he slurs.

“Who, me?”

Arthur smiles, as if he’s remembering a private joke. “No. Other bloke.”

“You better tell me all about that later.” Because Merlin really needs to know who lured him here to lock him in a room and what plan Arthur had hopefully interrupted. “Right now we really need to get out of here. Can you move if I help?”

“I’m not an invalid.”

“I never said you were, grouchy idiot.”

***

“Lie still,” Merlin says when Arthur tries to move from the sofa. “That’s the least you can do since you won’t let me take you to the hospital. What do you want?”

“A pee.” Arthur gives him a look, struggling up into a sitting position. “You want me to go on your mother’s cushions?”

“Do you need help?”

“No, I don’t need help to go to the loo, Merlin, for fuck’s sake.”

Merlin holds his hands up and keeps quiet as Arthur struggles to get to the bathroom, trying not to let his eyes linger on Arthur’s slight limp and the bruise forming by his eye. There’s still blood on his face, although none of it seems to be fresh anymore.

When Arthur disappears into the bathroom, Merlin crouches down by the freezer and finds some leftover soup from the last time he was ill. He puts it in a bowl and sticks it in the microwave. While it heats up, he puts the kettle on, and both the soup and the tea are ready when Arthur comes back out.

“I don’t have the flu,” Arthur says as he sits down, eyeing the bowl of soup and his cup of tea.

Merlin shrugs. He hadn’t quite known what else to do. “Just eat it.”

“I need to clean my wound,” Arthur says and holds up some antiseptic he found in the bathroom.

“I’ll clean your wound if you eat.”

Arthur looks doubtful, a muscle in his jaw twitching as he clenches his teeth. Finally, he nods, and Merlin moves over, sits down next to him and takes the antiseptic and the cotton wool from his hands.

He presses the cotton wool carefully against the wound on Arthur’s cheek—ignoring the way Arthur winces—and presses ahead. He regrets volunteering for this, for a number of reasons. It feels oddly intimate, for one, and for the other, it brings him too close to Arthur’s injuries. The ones he’s at fault for.

Arthur finally takes the bowl of soup and eats with slow, steady movements.

“Let me take you to the hospital.”

Arthur doesn’t answer. He only swallows another spoonful of soup and quietly winces at the press of cotton wool against his wound.

“Your ribs could be broken. The little bones around your eyes could be broken too.”

“Why do you even fucking care, Merlin?” Arthur turns, finds his eyes and holds them.

Merlin’s heart beats hard in his chest and he wants to draw back under the scrutiny, but then he gets angry. Blood-boilingly angry.

“I called you. I was desperate, and I called you, and you came. And because of that, you might have broken ribs and fractured eye-bones or whatever. Why I care? I don’t know how to answer that, Arthur. I really don’t.”

Everything grows still, so quiet and unnerving and weird. Arthur just holds his bowl, looking lost and young. He reminds Merlin of times that are long gone.

“I hate hospitals,” Arthur says and it sounds weird in the quiet of the house. “Because of mum.”

And Merlin remembers Ygraine, then. Remembers her following Arthur to a school baking fair, her wrists so thin he could’ve circled them with his tiny kid-hands.

“I’ll take you. I’ll stay there with you, ok? I don’t want to wake up and find out you have a punctured lung because I panicked and called you when I shouldn’t have.”

Merlin’s fingers accidentally brush Arthur’s forehead.

Arthur narrows his eyes. “What do you mean, shouldn’t have?”

Merlin shrugs, and they just look at each other, the small distance between them filled with something weird and complicated and a little painful.

“Fine,” Arthur says and puts the bowl down. “Fine.”

#### Five

“Call me, ok?” Mithian says and leans into the passenger side through the open window. “Better yet, let me come? You shouldn’t go alone.”

Merlin fumbles with his phone, his hands shaking a little. “I have to. I’ll call you later, I promise.”

“Merlin, you don’t have—”

“Mithian.”

“Alright. Alright, you stubborn, daft git. Just go alone. Call me!”

Merlin drives off as soon as Mithian lets go of the open window, his fingers curling around the steering wheel. His knuckles whiten.

It’s usually the cases that start out easy, that you think you can do in your sleep, that end up driving you to the brink of what you can handle. It’s in the simple cases you’ll get the most surprises: someone’s horrible secret, something tragic that happens to good people, your own estranged, alcoholic father’s name in a random file.

Merlin drives in silence, doesn’t even bother to turn on the radio until he reaches Nemeth. He sits two blocks down from the address written on the file, taking deep, laboured breaths. Not telling his mum makes him feel terrible. He knows she should know, but if it turns out bad, it’ll just bring her more grief.

He rests his head against the steering wheel, losing courage with every second that passes. And then there’s a knock on the window. He flails, only just stopping himself from screaming.

Bloody fucking _Arthur_.

He rolls down the window halfway and tries to calm his racing pulse. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“You’re not going alone.”

“How did you even find me?”

Arthur has the gall to look amused. “Saw you sitting here when I was on my way to this place.” He holds up a paper with the address of Merlin’s destination scribbled on it.

“You wore down _Mithian_?” You think you can trust people.

“She wasn’t hard to convince. You need someone here.”

“I don’t need anyone.”

Arthur walks around the car and Merlin fumbles with the lock, but Arthur manages to pull it open before the central locking activates. Merlin sinks back in his seat.

“I’m coming with you. I don’t care if you think you can handle this alone.”

“Really? You don’t care at all what I want?”

Arthur sighs. “At the very least I’ll sit in the car and wait for you to get back.”

Protests line up to spill out of Merlin’s mouth, but then he feels the calm that settles in his chest where there was only panic before. Maybe it’s ok, sometimes, to acknowledge that he needs other people.

“Why would my dad be in Nemeth?” Merlin says.

“I don’t know.”

“Do you think he’s really here?”

“Do you want him to be?”

Merlin puts the car in drive and turns into the street, says, “Welcome to the Mystery-Machine,” and drives the last few blocks to the address he’s been looking for.

“Where’s your car?” Merlin asks.

“Left it back there. I’ll get Leon to pick it up, I guess. He always asks to borrow it anyway.”

They come to a stop and Merlin gets out on shaky legs. He meets Arthur’s eyes and nods, closing the car door with a bang. He makes it a few steps before he turns back, opens the door on Arthur’s side and sighs.

“Come on, then.”

Arthur grins at him, his stupid blond, floppy hair falling haphazardly onto his forehead in a way that Merlin definitely does not notice.

They walk side by side up to what looks like an abandoned building and Merlin gets a really intense flashback. Their track record with abandoned buildings is quite terrible, but at least this time they’re together.

The steps up to the front door are stone, but the banister is rusty and crooked. The door has already been busted through, and the two of them glance at each other. Merlin pushes the door open, as quietly as possible, and he takes out his phone, presses 999 and hovers his thumb over the call button.

Inside is what appears to have been an office space at one point, with a large reception desk near the front. It’s quiet. The floorboards creak under them, and Merlin shifts closer to Arthur on instinct.

“There’s no one here,” Arthur says after they’ve walked the length of the first floor. The stairs up to the second floor are broken.

“Someone’s taken the filing cabinets behind the desk.”

“What do you think your dad’s got to do with this place?”

“I’ve no idea.”

Merlin steps into the reception area and peers at the space where the filing cabinets should’ve been. The floorboards are worn, darkened in colour, except in the rectangular spaces by the wall. The cabinets can’t have been removed that long ago, especially as dust hasn’t even settled there yet.

“There’s something really weird about this case,” Merlin says. “I need to find out who took the cabinets.”

“You won’t find anything here.”

“Yeah. Let’s go.”

Merlin lets Arthur take the driver’s seat, although he does consider protesting. The adrenaline rush has ended and it’s left a crushing exhaustion in its wake. So Arthur drives them back, puts the radio on low so the car is filled with hums of indistinct music.

“Did you think you’d find him?”

“Yeah, I honestly think I did.”

“What would you have done?”

“God. I don’t even know. I think it’s better that I didn’t.”

Arthur changes the subject. He talks about school, he talks about Morgana and her struggles to come to terms with both her families. He talks about the parties. He even mentions Uther, briefly.

“I don’t think I want to go home,” Merlin says as they get closer to Camelot. “Take me somewhere else?”

Artur glances at him. “To mine?”

“Alright.”

There’s not much Merlin knows about the case. It has connections to Agravaine De Bois, whom he’d thought he was done with months ago. It has something to do with documents that are definitely forged, and someone didn’t want him to find those filing cabinets. He doesn’t know which offices used to be at that address, but he knows his dad’s connected to it somehow.

The one thing he does know is that, while he thought he wanted to go alone today, he’s happy that Arthur’s here. Merlin glances at him out of the corner of his eye. Arthur’s profile is illuminated by the passing street lights. Merlin’s eyes follow the straight line of his nose, the curve of his lips and the cut of his jaw.

They were friends once, sort of, and for a while Merlin had forgotten what brought them together. Sometimes, he still doesn’t know why he can stand Arthur, but for the most part these days he finds himself drawn to him at every turn.

“Dad’s away,” Arthur says as he stops outside the mansion. “Maybe forever, if I’m lucky.”

Merlin climbs out of the car and waits until Arthur’s head peeks out before he says, “You don’t mean that.”

For a second, Arthur looks guilty, but then he laughs. “Have you met my dad?”

And yes, Merlin has, which is why he ends up laughing too, as he follows Arthur into the house. Closing the large oak doors behind them, Arthur nods towards the living room and Merlin toes off his shoes.

“Where’s Morgana?” he asks.

Arthur shrugs. “More gone than she’s here these days.”

Not knowing how to reply, Merlin just ends up standing in the middle of the opulent living room, looking around at all the things he’s already seen several times before and has no need to catalogue again.

“Hey, sit down? We’ll order a pizza. If you want.”

“Yeah, sounds good.” Merlin doesn’t move, though. Instead, he opens his mouth, closes it again, before he finally says, “Hey, Arthur. Uh.” And nothing more comes out, but Arthur is looking at him now, one corner of his mouth upturned.

“Yeah.” Arthur smiles. “Merlin.”

It’s Arthur who moves closer and reaches out first, his hand pressing to Merlin’s neck, his thumb resting at the hinge of Merlin’s jaw. It rubs back and forth exactly twice before he leans to press their lips together, mouth open and hot. Merlin fists his hand into Arthur’s shirt, remembers the moment in Agravaine’s office where he’d pulled Arthur into a fake embrace. It had felt so strangely intimate and real at the time, but it wasn’t like this. Not at all.

He pushes into the kiss, unable to sort one emotion from another, as Arthur’s tongue licks across his bottom lip. Merlin meets it with his own, an odd feeling of desperation settling in him as he tries to get closer, tries to feel Arthur everywhere at once.

The kiss is hurried and a little sloppy, Arthur’s arm now looped around his back to hold him closer, and Merlin just lets it wash over him, takes everything the kiss brings with it and drowns himself in it until it’s all he can think of.

Arthur breaks it, their lips lingering close for a moment. Merlin can feel him smile, and then Arthur purses his lips just a little, brushing them across Merlin’s softly. He rests his forehead against Merlin’s, and says, “Sofa,” which Merlin is absolutely not going to disagree with.

#### +One

It’s hardly the most interesting thing in the world: sitting in a car outside a cheap motel on the wrong side of town waiting for the money-shot of sleazy husbands cheating on their wives. Neither is it the most romantic thing, but Merlin has, nevertheless, taken to bringing Arthur along whenever the opportunity presents itself.

Not because Arthur is helping, because he’s decidedly _not_ helping at all. He’s proved to be nothing but a hindrance, actually, but stakeouts are boring and it’s Merlin’s absolute least favourite part of working for his mum.

And if something’s going okay in your life, it’s alright to exploit it, right?

Arthur has a distracting mouth that he really likes to put to use. Usually by talking incessantly while Merlin sighs and taps his fingers on the steering wheel. Sometimes, though, he gets tired of talking and he wraps his lips around Merlin’s cock and sink down, take it all into the heat of his mouth. And Merlin bucks into it, swearing and grabbing at Arthur’s hair while his camera slides to the floor of the car.

“I really don’t get why everyone favours _this_ motel,” Arthur says into their second hour of waiting on their second stakeout of the week. “Why not go all out and choose Camelot Hotel if you’re going to do it in a communal bed to begin with?”

“What the fuck is a communal bed?”

Merlin gives up holding the camera and lets it rest in his lap as he braces his elbow against the car door.

“A bed everyone in the world has used before you. And this motel isn’t even going to change the sheets from the last couple who had immoral, cheating-sex.”

“At least I know I won’t find you here any time soon.”

Arthur shudders. “Fucking nightmare.”

“Speaking of nightmare, how long is it going to take this douchebag to cheat on his wife, exactly? Usually it takes them, like, twenty minutes.”

“I feel like these morons are working on their stamina,” Arthur says, making a face. “We’ve been out here longer and longer the past few weeks.”

Merlin groans miserably in agreement. He reaches out and puts the radio on, volume low. It’s darkening outside, afternoon heading into night.

“God, I’m bored.” Arthur slams his head against the headrest. “Entertain me, Merlin.”

Merlin rolls his eyes. “You could put that mouth of yours to better use.”

He says it to shut Arthur up, but then Arthur looks at him with measuring eyes and a wicked grin spreads across his face. Merlin’s dick reacts on instinct.

“Oh shit,” he says, his cock half-hard already. “They could come out any moment now, Arthur, we can’t—“

“I’ll keep an eye out, Merlin, come on, it could be another half hour for all we know.”

Merlin listens to his dick. He lets Arthur push the seats back and lower the backrests. Putting the camera down on the floor, he lets Arthur maneuver him until he’s on his knees, arse facing Arthur and his face pressed against the window on the driver’s side door.

“Arthur, what—” Merlin tries to find his balance, his thighs shaking a little, and his words die when Arthur pushes his boxers down.

He swallows as his naked skin is exposed to the relative chill of the car. And god, is Arthur doing what Merlin thinks he is? They’ve never done anything but suck each other off, which is more than good enough for Merlin, really, he’s not complaining, but—

Merlin digs his fingers into the fabric of the seat, his hips bucking, when Arthur’s tongue traces the rim of his hole. He exhales harshly, his heart picking up a frightening pace in his chest. He wants to swear, but he can’t get the words out, concentrating on the wonderful strangeness of Arthur’s tongue on his sensitive skin.

His gut burns with a confusing mix of shame (because of where Arthur’s mouth is), arousal (because this is something he’s only thought of in his wildest wank-fantasies) and affection (because Arthur).

He undulates his hips, can’t stop moving under the press of Arthur’s tongue. As Arthur’s hands hold him open, exposing him even more, he pushes his cheek to the window, his ragged breath fogging the glass.

“Oh god!” He moans, wrecked, desperately clawing at the fabric when he feels himself open around the tip of Arthur’s tongue.

And then Arthur is tongue-fucking him, hands digging into the flesh of his arse and Merlin rocks, whines at the overwhelming feeling of having any part of Arthur inside him. And his tongue feels so fucking _good_ too.

A low string of _uh_ s is punched out of him, and Arthur rubs a hand soothingly along his thigh. Merlin needs to come, he needs to come with Arthur’s tongue in his arse, and he begs. He’s on his knees, face pushed against the window and he begs.

Arthur’s hand is hot on his cock, the pressure so perfect that Merlin cries out, and then his back bows as he comes, Arthur’s tongue buried in his arse.

Needless to say, he has no pictures to show his mum when he gets back.

But what’s another picture of a cheating husband? It’s always the petty crimes you get away with, especially if the person trying to nail you to the wall is the one getting nailed.

**Author's Note:**

> Further headcanon that didn't quite make it into the fic:
> 
> Gwen is Wallace  
> Gwaine is Weevil
> 
> I had fully intended to bring them in at some point, but it never worked out that way!


End file.
